


The HHCU or, The Henry Higgins Cinematic Universe

by goreds



Category: My Fair Lady (1964), Pygmalion - Shaw
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, idle speculation based on fancasting, maybe even rex harrison, shaw rolls in his grave, so does jack warner for that matter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreds/pseuds/goreds
Summary: A long time ago, a little duckling whose name was Elias (he just didn’t know that yet) imprinted, hard, on My Fair Lady and Pygmalion and most importantly, Henry Higgins.But I realllllly hated Rex Harrison.So, here’s a series of fanfics about different actors who I’d cast as Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle (although I love Audrey AND Julie) and what I’d imagine they’d sound and act like. (Sometimes a Pickering, Mrs. Higgins, Mrs. Pearce or a Freddy will be included too.)
Relationships: Eliza Doolittle & Henry Higgins, Eliza Doolittle/Freddy Eynsford-Hill, Eliza Doolittle/Henry Higgins, Henry Higgins & Hugh Pickering, Henry Higgins/Hugh Pickering
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. A Hymn to Him

**Author's Note:**

> (Colin Firth!Higgins, Jennifer Ehle!Eliza, Stellan Skarsgård!Pickering)

Henry Higgins thought of himself as an upstanding fellow. Very refined and dignified. A brilliant scholar in his field. A handsome man, some would say (alright, most would say).

But he _was _miserable. Until _she _walked into his life.

Well, more like skittered. Skittered, while caterwauling. But he was instantly taken with her, for some strange reason. He didn’t usually find himself infatuated, or worse yet, in love. He’d rather just lay around the house with Pickering and play tongue twister games.

But Eliza is...well...she’s...he can’t find the word for it, which disturbs him indeed. Dignified in a way totally different from him. She’s just got this...air to her, which is most unlike a flower girl.

Sometimes he imagines running into her on that rainy night and being _kind_ to her, instead of acting like a miserable bastard. Which is just nutty. He’s a confirmed old bachelor, and confirmed old bachelors do not usually act like perfect gentlemen towards women of her...class. Except maybe Pickering would. No, definitely Pickering would.

Oh, Pickering--his slightly dumpy gentleman friend, who enjoyed reading all his books and asking all those questions and just...watching him with that intense stare while he went on about some linguistic-al nightmare he was trying to solve.

If he wasn’t careful he might think he’s in love with Pickering. But he’s probably not. He just likes the attention, if he’s being honest. No one really pays attention to him these days. Certainly not Mother. Certainly not Mrs. Pearce. Eliza pays attention, but in a very evasive way. He can tell she wishes she wasn’t so attentive. Eliza and he play at hating each other, but he doesn’t hate Eliza...quite the opposite.

Henry wonders if Eliza will ever _not _play at hating him. Because he’ll stop if she will.


	2. With a Little Bit of Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Jared Harris!Higgins, Claire Foy!Eliza, Matt Smith!Freddy)

Higgins gulps down his mid-morning glass of sherry as soon as he hears that _dreadful _Cockney accent outside the door. Mrs. Pearce swoops in, with that flower girl hot on her heels.

Such wide eyes. Such a prim nose. Such _horrific _sounds coming out of the wide-eyed, prim-nosed sprite in front of him. Later, he vaguely remembers dismissively accepting her as a pupil, casually telling her if she fails, he’ll get her head chopped off personally and merely getting a cold, almost regal, glare in return.

He _vaguely _remembers because he gets drunk on sherry after the encounter, mainly because he can’t stand to hear the poor thing’s screams as Mrs. Pearce scrubs her to the bone, even though it was by his command that the whole circus happens. He wishes he had a friend to commiserate with, but that Pickering chap abandoned him rather quickly; Henry assumes it's because he’s bad company, or maybe Pickering just didn’t like how much drinking there was in the Higgins study. His mother tut-tuts him every time he drinks in her presence, but she daren’t say he has a problem, not to _him_, her darling only child.

No, it’s Eliza who, one day, once her proper British accent finally comes through (finally!), says primly (because she’s always prim now), “Oughtn’t you stop?” He may have been on his fourth or fifth glass at dinner, he doesn’t remember. He just thought she was cranky because of the Ascot disaster that day...but later, he remembers genuine concern crossing her pale face. He glared at her, and she excused herself.

Quite a departure from when they danced together a few nights before when she got “The Rain in Spain” right. Good god, that took a while.

Later after dinner, as he mused in his favorite chair on the events at the Ascot, Mrs. Pearce disrupted his peace and told him that a Freddy Eynsford-Hill was waiting to see him. He vaguely remembered the name, so he received him.

What a strange-looking boy. Gawky, awkward, not grown into his face and he never would be. But he sang Eliza’s praises and left a calling card should she care to see him again.

Henry takes the card and burns it, never telling Eliza about the misfit nobleman who came to their door.

_Their _door, he realizes with a start. After all, she’s been living with him for nearly six months now. He’s grown accustomed to it.

He wonders what he would do if Freddy ever did come again and, this time, sweep Miss Doolittle off her feet.

Keep drinking, probably.


	3. She'll Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Tobias Menzies!Higgins, Olivia Colman!Eliza)

Eliza comes back to him, eventually. Freddy doesn’t work out, and Henry knew he wouldn’t.

He wants to say he’s happy, but she looks so miserable on a constant basis that he realizes he’s the consolation prize. She’s not his, though--she, for him, is the only prize he’s received in his life, despite what his wall of various citations would suggest.

Henry treats Eliza as the queen she is this time, and he fetches _her _slippers, not the other way around. Sometimes he mimics a Cockney to try and cheer her up, and sometimes it works and she banters with him. But usually, she’s just sad. He knows she considers herself past her prime now--she was with Freddy for ten useless years, and while she made herself a living, and a good one, she spent most of it unsupported by her man-boy husband.

Henry likes Freddy at one point to Peter Pan, and she just scoffs. But it’s a spark of something, that shows that the mischievous young woman who frustrated him to the point of hysterics is still in there, somewhere.

“Mr. Higgins,” she says one day.

“You don’t have to call me ‘Mr. Higgins’, Eliza. Or I’d suppose I’d have to call you Miss Doolittle again.”

“Fine...Henry.” And she smiles a little as if she’d been waiting for permission to allow one more display of intimacy between the two of them.

Henry has a greenhouse built onto a wing in the back of the house, so Eliza can be near the flowers she loves so much as much as she wants to, whenever she wants to. He often catches her in there, whistling some bawdy tune, but he doesn’t interrupt her. He just likes to watch her enjoy herself.

One day, she catches him looking. And she skips (literally _skips_) over to him, still whistling, and begins to dance with him--but quite unlike the day they danced at the ball, or after she perfected her accent. It’s a common dance and a much less graceful one. Not that Henry ever found himself graceful.

It’s one of her good days. They’re few and far between, but they are memories he cherishes. Just as he cherishes her, even if he can never quite find the words to tell her the true depths of his affection.


	4. ...all at once you’re using language that would make a sailor blush!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Shawn Doyle!Higgins, Shohreh Aghdashloo!Eliza)
> 
> I feel like I should explain myself on this one. I really like The Expanse. These two are on that show and usually in scenes together. Their chemistry is balls to the walls amazing. They swear a fuckin’ ton. 
> 
> And I was interested in an older Eliza as opposed to an older Higgins. 
> 
> Also, we’re getting kind of R rated, kiddos.

Higgins is not an easily overwhelmed person. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Then he meets Eliza Doolittle. And she makes him want to swear all day, every day. Throw tantrums, really. Be completely undignified. Make a scene.

She _does _swear every day. “I ‘ate this fuckin’ exercise!”

She does throw tantrums, usually yelling and raining hellfire on his head, which at first he watches with amusement until she _keeps doing it_.

And she is totally, entirely undignified. Maybe uninhibited is a better word. Because Eliza can be _very _dignified when she wants to be. For example, when he occasionally loses his temper, in tiny ways, she immediately notices and gives him a glare which seems to say “I’m fucking better than you, you bastard.”

His mother would blush if she could hear what he thinks of those looks. 

Because at a certain point, Higgins is positively convinced he will make a scene and pin her to a wall and just...just...

_Well_.

And then that point comes. Miraculously, it comes long after she finally figures out “The Rain in Spain” and the bloody proper way to speak and _after _the disastrous Ascot. It still doesn’t come at the most convenient time, though--it comes after the Imperial Ball, when they’re both high on adrenaline and drunk on their own egos.

Or maybe that’s just him.

Once Pickering and his household staff is done feting his glory, Pickering goes to bed and the staff go...wherever they go. And it’s just him and Eliza. Eliza, who has been watching this entire sight with burning eyes. Higgins notices this, and once all are gone...

“Miss Doolittle, will you kindly fetch my slippers?” He lies down on the couch and waits to see what her reaction is.

Oh, he gets one. The first slipper hits him dead in the face. “There’s one of them, Mr. Higgins.”

He pushes. “And the other?”

The other hits him directly in the crotch. It’s a good thing it’s light, although the force that it’s propelled with is...well. “There’s the fucking other, you fucking cunt!”

“Why Miss Doolittle, such language for some elegant, mysterious countess from Hungary!” He just grins at her.

“This is all a joke to you. My life, everything I’ve worked so hard for...a fucking joke!” She starts removing her jewels.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You borrowed them, remember? And I borrowed them from you. So I’m giving them back now.” The act of removing the jewelry seems to be calming her down.

He can’t have that. He gets up from the couch and goes over to make an attempt at helping her.

He gets the reaction he wants, as she slaps him away. He grabs a braceleted wrist, and Eliza looks at him with such a steely, yet fiery fury, as if the look itself could blast him into little flecks of ash.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She rasps.

“Just helping you take off one of the bracelets.”

She finds this very funny, cackling, before attempting to wrench her wrist away from him.

But he doesn’t let go. He holds on for dear life and leans down to kiss her. He intends for the kiss to be soft and brief, but what he doesn’t expect is for her to grab onto him _so _tightly in response and keep the kiss going...and going...and going. She bites his bottom lip before abruptly breaking it off.

“Mr. Higgins, I think that’s enough. Wouldn’t want to make a scene.” She says this last part with a sly smile forming, because of course she wants to make a scene. That’s her modus operandi in the world.

“Now Eliza,” he purrs, savoring saying her first name aloud, “We both know that’s not true.”

Eliza looks up at him, wryly. “Speak for yourself, _Henry_.” She draws his name out, and he’s not expecting to find it so fucking..._delightful_ to hear her call him by _his _first name.

Eliza goes over to the couch and plops down onto it, any trappings of being a lady gone for the night. She spreads her legs, coyly. She always surprises him. Even when she’s predictable, she’s surprising.

He walks over to her and kneels before her.

“What, are you a fucking knight?”

Higgins just looks at her, and he realizes he’s practically smoldering. He can’t remember the last time...if ever, he looked at _anyone _that way.

It doesn’t seem to affect her. Or if it is, she certainly isn’t showing it. In a sultry tone, she whispers: “No, not a knight...yet. But I can help you earn your armor.”

Higgins rises up to kiss her once more. She accepts the kiss, making his already messy hair messier. In the middle of this kiss, he realizes he’s hard and probably has been ever since that first kiss. She grabs at him, which doesn’t make that particular situation any easier.

They break apart, and she immediately starts working at taking off the rest of her jewelry. She eyes his bulge and very coyly mutters: “We’ll take care of _these _jewels first.” He just watches, hungrily, as the jewels come off. He’s never really thought about the fact that Eliza is older than him before--they feel like contemporaries. But he very quickly realizes that Eliza is likely _much _more experienced than a man who has had his head stuck in linguistics textbooks his whole life.

And from her confident look, she knows it, too.

The jewelry off and set aside, she begins to take off the ballgown, which seems a slow, arduous process, with all the fastenings and buttons. She indicates that he should help, and she sits patiently as he attempts to do it all as quickly as possible. But his fingers keep fumbling. She reaches back and grabs his shaking hands.

“Slowly, Henry. We have all the time in the world now.”

He calms down a little and goes slower. Finally, it’s done, and she stands to slip the dress off. She looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“What, I’m the only one who’s going to get undressed?”

Higgins starts to undress, while she slips off the dress and starts working on the layers of undergarments. He keeps stopping, though, just to look at her. Take her in. She _is _older, that’s true, but he’s quickly realizing age has no hold on beauty.

“Henry, you’re gawking.”

“I’m...I’m not gawking. I’m just...admiring.”

Something seems to melt within Eliza, and she stops fussing with her corset to lay a hand on his cheek. “You’re a sweet boy. And you haven’t done this many times. And I _have_. And I need you to focus, or this will not be beneficial for either of us.”

“You talk as if this is transactional.”

A huff. “All sex _is _transactional.”

“I...do not want to believe that.”

“I’m your bloody student. I know what this is. What exactly do _you _think it is?”

He’s taken aback by how...frank she is about something which he’s been dreaming of for a while now. But he finds his voice. “Making a scene, Eliza...it’s...making a fucking scene.” He’s never sworn in front of her before, he realizes. “I don’t think of you as my pupil anymore. You’ve learnt all your lessons and passed your tests with high marks.”

“Then what am I?”

“I...don’t know. But you’re more than a student, and certainly more than a transaction.” He’s painfully aware that he’s now just in his undershirt and drawers, being heartfelt for the first time in his life. She’s just in her corset and her combinations. She looks a little surprised by his confession.

“Henry...this isn’t going to be what you built it up to be in your head. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be sorry.”

Eliza begins to gather up her discarded clothing and undergarments. He looks at her mournfully. It’s over. The magic hour has passed. She looks pointedly at the jewelry. “Don’t lose any of it, dear.”

And she leaves him.

“Damn, damn, damn, _damn_.” He finds himself declaring, before picking up one of her discarded bracelets and just...staring at it. Wondering at it. Really, wondering at _her_. 


End file.
